When the apothecary drifted back toward Harry’s bed, offering instructions to Harry’s valet, Adam stepped inside.
“Adam.” He couldn’t tell from Persephone’s tone if she was happy to see him or not. A blush spread across her face, and her eyes almost immediately lowered.
Because he’d touched her, Adam assumed. He hadn’t intended to. It had been an impulse, one he had uncharacteristically acted on.
She’d flinched, immediately backed away from his touch. She’d said something about his hand being cold, but Adam felt certain that was not the reason.
“Mr. Johns seems quite confident that Harry will recover,” Persephone said.
“That is reassuring.”
He forced his eyes toward Harry but found he wanted to keep watching Persephone. Was she afraid of him? Repulsed? Indifferent? Somehow he couldn’t imagine Persephone being indifferent to anyone. Unlike himself, she seemed to feel something for every person she met.
“The fever is not dangerously high,” Mr. Johns said. “I have provided some powders that should help bring him around.”
“Thank you, Mr. Johns.” Adam couldn’t remember the last time the apothecary had spoken to him with so much ease. Generally he stammered and sputtered.
Mr. Johns smiled as if Adam had offered him a compliment. “A couple days in bed should put him to rights. I’ve instructed his man on treatment and administering the tisane.”
Adam had never seen Mr. Johns look more confident. Could a simple compliment heard secondhand change a man so much?
“Then we should probably let Mr. Windover’s man see to him,” Persephone suggested.
“I haven’t had a chance to check on him myself.”
“I think you can trust Mr. Johns, Adam. Bringing Harry here was the best thing you could have done.” She stood directly beside him, looking up into his face. Adam looked away, knowing what she would see if he didn’t. “Letting him rest would be the second best thing.”
“You really think he will recover?” Adam asked Mr. Johns.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, then, I suppose I would be well advised to listen to my wife and let him sleep.” Adam shook his head at his easy agreement. He wasn’t usually one for being led.
“I have found that listening to my wife is always advisable,” Mr. Johns answered with a smile.
Mr. Johns was married? The apothecary had been coming to Falstone for eight years or more, and Adam hadn’t, until that moment, even known he was a married man.
“You’ve been out in the cold all day, Adam,” Persephone said. “You should get some rest as well.”
Quite to Adam’s surprise, Persephone took his hand in hers and gently led him from the room. As if he were a mere child, Adam followed without comment all the way back to his bedchamber.
“I will have the kitchen send you up a hot dinner.” Persephone stepped back from his doorway.
Adam couldn’t think of a response. He wished she yet held his hand, wished she hadn’t already stepped away. He’d never known another person whose proximity he missed so immediately.
What was happening to him? He, who needed no one—who kept the world at arm’s length—wished Persephone would remain.
He’d spent the better part of his journey to the Boar and Dagger thinking of Persephone’s parting words. She’d made him promise to be careful. And he had been. At any other time he would have told James Coachman to spring the team in hopes of reaching Harry faster. Instead they’d taken a more sedate pace.
And as Harry had slept on the trip back, Adam had thought of Persephone again. He’d imagined her waiting at the door for his return, happy to see him, perhaps greeting him with an embrace. It had been rather far-fetched and completely uncharacteristic. Yet the image had refused to be dismissed.
He’d even been disappointed when Barton had opened the doors of Falstone Castle and Persephone hadn’t been there. But not two steps inside, he’d seen her up on the landing. Then she’d all but run down the stairs.
Who could blame him for reaching out to her? It had been an idiotic thing to do, he acknowledged with a frustrated shake of his head. He was simply tired and overwrought after hours in a snowstorm to retrieve his friend, who’d proved even more ill than he’d anticipated.
A good night’s sleep, Adam told himself. That was all he needed. In the morning he’d be himself again.
Chapter Eighteen
